Infected- The Beginning

by Perry Stevenson

  The vermin were out in force and John sent a flock of crows into the air and a number of rats scurrying for cover as he steered the truck between rotting corpses. Turning right on reaching the Boreham main road, the number of dismembered corpses began to decrease as we left the main part of the village behind us. Covering the remaining half-mile in less than a minute, John pulled into the garden centre car park. We checked our weapons, then surveyed the area intently for any sign of human activity. To my surprise, there were still four cars in the car park and the main gate to the garden centre was open.

  “Whatever happened here, happened very quickly,” said John.

  “What worries me is that there are no bodies, which means the owners of those cars may still be around,” I said, pointing to the vehicles parked in front of us.

  “I’ll let you two check the place out first while I wait here,” said Josephine, looking serious.

  John and I looked at each other as we got out of the vehicle, cocking our guns at the same time and sending a round into the chamber. We walked towards the open double gates, and noticed that the large open part where the plants were displayed was hidden from view by taller shrubs that ran alongside the fence. Passing through the gates, on our right were stacks of various fertilisers, and to our left an area about 200 feet square with aisles every 15 feet running towards the bottom aisle containing a variety of dwarf conifers, and bedding and rockery plants. Seventy yards in front of us was the main retail building, and halfway along on our right was a fruit-and-veg shop, while to the left of the retail store was a sheltered area containing garden furniture and a nursery covered by plastic sheeting. We checked to our right and each aisle on our left as we proceeded towards the main retail store. It was beginning to feel quite warm in the bright sunshine. A strange silence filled the air; a few birds were singing in the distance, but otherwise it was as though they knew they were free of the human race, and the tranquillity was broken only by the occasional buzz of a bee or wasp as it passed overhead. The doors to the retail store were open, and I was about to go inside when John tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Dad, let’s check the rest of the grounds first – we don’t want anything sneaking up behind us,” he whispered.

  I nodded in agreement, backing away from the store. It was only a short distance to the country lane that ran alongside the garden centre on our right, and it was obvious there were no infected in that direction. We turned our attention to the covered area on our left with garden furniture. Keeping together, we walked along the aisles, checking each intersection that we passed. First was the garden furniture and then a number of ornaments, and we continued to the nursery. Before going through the closed double doors, we checked the bottom aisle which ran the full length of the open area. A metal fence marked the external boundary, along which were stacks of plastic containers of various sizes for potting plants. We turned our attention back to the closed double doors, and as I reached for the handle my heart started to beat faster and there was an increased pounding in my ears. Slowly I pushed the stiff handle down, and eventually there was a click as the door opened slightly. John tried to push the other door, but it was bolted from the inside, so we had to enter in single file.

  I looked at John and whispered, “You ready?” He remained silent and just nodded. I started to push the bottom of the door with my foot, enabling me to keep both hands on the shotgun. I managed to get the door half-open before it emitted a very loud squeak and then scraped on the loose gravel that covered the floor. With the door three-quarters open, I slipped inside with my back against the other door, allowing John to enter. The open door was spring-loaded and closed behind John with an unbelievably loud click! Frozen to the spot and with our backs pressed firmly against the double doors, we stood in complete silence waiting for something to happen.

  It was only then that we were able to take in the scene of absolute carnage. A man lay face down on the floor five yards in front of us with the back of his head missing, while another was bent backwards over one of the remaining upright metal tables in the nursery with a large cavity in the centre of his chest. At the other end of the nursery, an arm was sticking up in the air supported by one of the collapsed tables. Compost from the seedling trays was scattered over the floor amongst overturned metal tables and broken plastic trays. I instinctively lifted the shotgun to my shoulder reacting to movement, and two very large rats ran from the body on the floor as another appeared from the chest of the man lying across the table. It looked at us for a few seconds before making an enormous leap, landing six feet from the table and eventually disappearing beneath the broken tables and trays at the back of the nursery.

  After taking a deep breath, John and I cautiously moved forward along the central aisle. On our right a circular pattern of holes ventilated the plastic sheeting, in the middle of which was the shape of a person’s head and shoulders. We soon realised that this person might possibly still be alive. I was looking to my left when John tapped my shoulder, indicating to look in front. The arm protruding from the upturned table had started to move. The scraping of metal on concrete filled the air as the table beside the exposed arm also started to move, and suddenly the back of a man’s head appeared above the overturned table, slowly starting to rise and turning towards us.

  A strange gurgling sound came from the far-left corner of the nursery, together with the sound of metal being scraped across concrete. A grey, dehydrated hand grabbed the top of the table and the man pulled himself to his feet. A woman appeared next to him and then, in the far-right corner, another woman dressed in green overalls rose above the wreckage on the concrete floor. The man in front of us had now regained his feet, and stared at us with bright red eyes, his black pupils glistening in the hazy sunlight from a contorted face which showed his yellow, bloodied teeth.

  John was the first to recover from our trance-like state as we evaluated the unfolding scene. He fired at the woman in the top-right corner, and two red marks appeared in her forehead, causing her to stagger backwards and collapse to the floor. The other three now seemed to come to life, coming at us together, and we both fired at the man in front of us, but he tripped over the table that his arm had been resting on and our shots passed harmlessly over his head, peppering the plastic sheeting behind him. A young boy rose from the wreckage less than ten yards from us on our right, while the two from the left corner had now progressed to about the same distance away. I turned my attention to them while the man in front was trying to extract himself from the metal table.

  I heard the crack! of the Ruger as the boy was stopped in his tracks and, aiming quickly, I fired once at each of the two approaching infected, lifting the woman clean off of her feet with a shot to the chest, and hitting the man in the neck, which removed the flesh from his neck exposing his spine. Turning my attention back to the man in front of us, who had now got back to his feet, John and I fired in unison, this time with greater success as two red dots appeared in his head just before a four-inch hole ripped through the centre of his chest, exposing his ribs. He fell backwards over the metal table, disappearing from view apart from one arm that remained pointing skywards.

  “Bet he doesn’t move this time, Dad,” said John in a matter-of-fact voice.

  “Please remind me next time, son, not to open any doors we don’t have to,” I said.

  “Of course, there is one question – who shot these infected in the first place?” asked John.

  “Good question. We’ll leave this lot to the rats – we’d better check outside to see if we’ve stirred up any movement.”

  The door closed behind us as we left the nursery and returned to the open area, and walking slowly back to the retail store we checked for any signs of life. Apart from the birds and flying insects, all was quiet. Reaching the store entrance, we had a final look around for any infected that might have been attracted by our gunshots.

  The seeds we needed were on our left a
s we entered. To our right was a small counter with the store’s one and only checkout till. We decided to check the remainder of the store before inviting Josephine to join us. Proceeding along the aisle that stretched some 20 yards in front, we had to step over the occasional broken bag that blocked our path. John and I soon reached the end.

  Close to the bottom of the store on our left were 15-kilo bags of dog food, stacked over six feet high.

  “Let’s take a few of these for Sheba once we’ve checked the rest of the store,” I said, turning right.

  We continued along the bottom end of the store, then along the right-hand wall back towards the entrance. Passing the garden tools, John commented that we might have to acquire a few once we started planting.

  We returned to the truck and collected Josephine.

  “Sounded as though you had a few problems,” she said as she got out.

  “Yes, we had a few hairy moments in the nursery,” said John, not wanting to go into the gory details. Leaving Josephine at the front of the store reading instructions on how to plant various types of vegetable, we continued to the bottom with the intention of collecting the bags of dog food we had seen earlier.

  “If I remember correctly, I think there was a small alcove behind the dog food,” I said.

  “Yeah, you’re right, Dad – all the doggy stuff was stored there.”

  We removed the top few bags and put them on the floor, allowing us to see over the remaining pile, and, sure enough, there was an area behind with various dog toys, leads, chews and bones.

  “Dad, is that a foot?” John whispered.

  “Yeah,” I replied, noticing a large army-style boot protruding from a display of tinned dog food.

  “Hello – are you alright?” asked John.

  The foot twitched and a barely audible sound came from behind the stack of tins. John and I looked at each other, not knowing if the person was infected. We moved more bags of dog food until we could enter the alcove. I slowly approached the stack of tins until I could see beyond. A man dressed in soiled casual wear sat on the floor, his back resting against a number of large bags of food, with his head bowed as if inspecting the finer points of the dirty floor and several empty dog-food cans, and his legs spread out in front of him. A double-barrelled shotgun was propped up by the bags of dog food next to him.

  “Can we help you?” I asked, pointing my shotgun in his direction.

  He slowly lifted his head, his eyes still closed, exposing a dirty, dehydrated face. Flicking the safety catch off, I aimed at his head, waiting for him to open his eyes. Finally, he spoke, very quietly and in a croaking, gravelly voice, opening his eyes at the same time.

  “Do you have any water?” he asked.

  His white eyes seemed to stand out in their sunken sockets.

  “No – you’d better come with us. Can you stand up?” I asked.

  “If you can help me,” he replied.

  John handed me his rifle and took the man under the arm, helping him to his feet.

  “Hang on to me – we’ll take you back to our farm,” said John.

  “All those mad people have gone – I need to close my store first,” the man said.

  “Don’t worry about that. No one’s going to break in. We have a doctor at the farm,” I said.

  “What’s your name?” asked John.

  “Roger,” the man replied.

  “I’m John and this is my Dad, James. Let’s get you sorted out, then you can decide what you want to do,” said John.

  “OK,” Roger replied in his rasping voice.

  John took Roger back to the truck, while I collected his double-barrelled shotgun and followed them. Josephine was still selecting packets of seed at the entrance.

  “You nearly ready to go?” I asked her.

  “Nearly finished. I see you managed to find a live one.”

  “Yes – he’s in a bad way, though.”

  I put Roger’s shotgun in the truck and handed the rifle back to John once he had settled our new passenger on the back seat.

  “Dog food first, John, and hopefully Josephine will be ready to go by the time we’ve finished,” I said.

  We made two trips back into the garden shop, collecting six bags of dog food, by which time Josephine had made her way to the truck. John started the engine and within five minutes we had pulled up behind Mat and Sara’s car in front of the main farm entrance. Kevin and Kate were helping them unload medical supplies. I quickly jumped out to stop Kevin entering the house.

  “Kevin, we have a patient for you!” I shouted.

  He stopped and turned towards me.

  “His name is Roger. I think he’s suffering from dehydration,” I continued.

  Kevin put the goods he was carrying back in the car and walked over to us. As he approached, I opened the rear passenger door and had to catch Roger as his upper body had been leaning against it. Kevin quickly checked him over.

  “Bring him through to our new surgery at the back of the house,” said Kevin proudly.

  He helped me push Roger back into the truck and John drove it round to the rear entrance. There Kevin and I extracted Roger and took him into the newly-created makeshift surgery, where Kate was waiting with a bottle of water.

  “We’ll take it from here, James,” said Kevin.

  “See you later,” I said, and returned to the truck.

  Approaching, I noticed that black smoke was rising high into the sky. Brian and Tom seemed to have things well in hand, although I couldn’t understand why the smoke was so black.

  “John, drive past Brian and Tom’s bonfire – they seem to be sending smoke signals to all and sundry,” I said.

  “I won’t be coming to the gun shop – I’m going to sort the seeds out,” said Josephine, standing by the driver’s door and holding a cardboard box full of packets.

  Josephine went back to the farmhouse, and John drove round to the fire and stopped in the middle of the track. Brian and Tom were standing at the edge admiring their handiwork, watching plumes of black smoke rise into the air. Opening the passenger door window, I shouted to them above the crackling and the hissing of body tissue as it reached boiling point.

  “What are you burning?” I asked.

  “We used a couple of old tractor tyres to get the fire started. Bad idea,” Brian admitted.

  “OK. Just to let you know, we have a new arrival called Roger. He’s in a bad way, but Kevin and Kate are on his case,” said John.

  “We’ll check him out later,” said Tom. “Brian, let’s get the last of these corpses on the fire.”

  Brian grabbed the remains of a young woman under the armpits and, with Tom holding her ankles, they swung her back and forth a few times before letting go and sending her into the centre of the fire, finally disappearing into the flames and black smoke.

  “Hope you have the guns handy – you might attract some unwanted attention,” I suggested.

  “Yes,” replied Brian.

  “Good – we’ll be back soon,” I said.

  John and I moved off to the large barns situated on the main dirt track and, turning left, we passed the two fields in front of the farms. The one on the left was now half-ploughed by Scott in the tractor, making steady progress towards us. Turning right into Church Road, we soon reached our destination. John parked the truck directly outside the gun shop. We surveyed the area briefly before disembarking with our weapons at the ready. On entering the shop, a pungent smell of rotting flesh and internal organs filled the air. We collected as much 12-bore and .22LR ammunition as we could find. We discovered two pump-action shotguns and a standard Ruger 10/22, and collected a Savage 64 semi-auto rifle, also in .22LR.

  “Dad, is there any other calibre we could use?” asked John.

  “Finding a reasonable amount of ammo for them is the problem,” I replied. “The mo
st common would be a .223, .308 or .303.”

  John started to look through the remaining weapons on the rifle rack.

  “Looks like someone beat us to it. What’s a .17HMR? There are two of those and a few other calibres – trouble is, they’re all bolt-action rifles, no pump or semi-automatics.”

  “That’s because the government banned all semi-automatic and pump-action rifles after someone went berserk with an AK-47 in Hungerford a few years ago. We’ll take the two .17 HMRs, if we can find the ammo for them. They’re quite small, so you can carry a lot of ammo and they’re quite a popular calibre these days.”

  “Do they come in boxes of fifty?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I’ve seen loads of them, then.”

  John disappeared down behind the small counter and returned to his full height placing at least ten boxes on the top. Then he entered the adjacent storeroom, returning with at least another 20 boxes.

  “I think we’re ready to go now, Dad,” he said, smiling.

  Making two trips to the truck with our new acquisitions, I was pleased to be in the fresh air again, as I had been starting to feel a bit queasy from the strong aroma emanating from the shop.

  Three minutes later, we were pulling up at the farmhouse, and as we got out of the truck Miles pulled up behind. I walked over to him while John opened the back of the truck and started to unload.

  “Any problems?” I asked.

  “No, none at all,” replied Miles. “We didn’t even see an infected. How about you?”

  “We had to shoot six or seven but otherwise it was OK. We’ve gained another person, who we found in the garden centre. He was in a bad way, and Kevin and Kate are looking after him at the moment. Did you manage to get any ammo?”

  “Yeah – twelve-bore and .22LR, and we found another Ruger 10/22 and a semi-automatic shotgun.”